Obviously, in Wright's just published memoirs when handling a band of highly talented and equally unpredictable Indian cricketers during sweltering moments appropriately titled Indian Summers (albeit it reminds of high-priced Indian restaurants in downtown Manhattan).
Now surely if the deceptively genial looking Wright believed that as a coach he could have his paroxysms of temperamental outbursts, I am hardly surprised that the Indians cussed under their breath and redefined many of Wright's ancestral and family relationships using colourful local dialect. But more on that later.
Imagine the scenario vividly in your graphic mind. Wright grabs the unsuspecting Sehwag by the collar and gives him a stinging jhaapar (slap); a stunned Veeru cries like a poor schoolboy deprived of his daily quota of Boost.
Veeru, sobbing with such loud gasps that the VIP guests assumed a creature from the London Zoo had quietly sneaked in, goes to his fiery skipper, Sourav Ganguly, himself a tornado waiting to take off at the slightest instigation.
On hearing about the Kiwi indiscretion, the Prince of Kolkotta asks for divine justice; the coach must offer a complete apology with the whole team standing around him in a semi-circle, smothering their unadulterated joy behind grim expressions.
Somehow, as usual, deal making (an inherent part of Indian cricket) became the insurmountable obstacle. A settlement was apparently engineered, and as per which Veeru did not slap Wright back. Instead, they all backslapped each other at mutually convenient locations of least discomfort. In Wright's book, no further incident of such exciting proportions unfortunately recurred, but it seems Sunil Gavaskar's sneaky revelation that Wright was a recipient of incisive compliments uttered with a Patiala twang from his pupils was perhaps not a figment of his wild imagination.
Which brings me to the point of this article. If the Indian team went onto register a most extraordinary victory in the NatWest Series despite such on-ground turbulence and entertaining tamasha (circus), then I think Wright has perhaps unwittingly just given us the perfect recipe for winning the World Cup 2007.
Cut out the rigorous commando training and endless runs around the stadium, tear the batting nets into shreds and tell De Bono to put on his thinking hat. Quite simply, all that Greg Chappell has to do is to start slapping a few guys once in a while. About the AuthorSanjay Jha Sanjay Jha is a hard-core “Congressi” largely on account of being enchanted by the incredible brilliance of the Gandhi-Nehru mystique, its array of in...Read Morefirst published:August 17, 2006, 10:23 ISTlast updated:August 17, 2006, 10:23 IST
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So erstwhile coach John Wright got so exasperated with Virender Sehwag's natural instincts, he almost thrashed the stout, brawny, beefy Nawab of Najafgarh in the dressing room in England in 2002. Now how in heavens has this so- far- concealed- act- of classic Kiwi aggression been suddenly let out of the Pandora's box?
Obviously, in Wright's just published memoirs when handling a band of highly talented and equally unpredictable Indian cricketers during sweltering moments appropriately titled Indian Summers (albeit it reminds of high-priced Indian restaurants in downtown Manhattan).
Now surely if the deceptively genial looking Wright believed that as a coach he could have his paroxysms of temperamental outbursts, I am hardly surprised that the Indians cussed under their breath and redefined many of Wright's ancestral and family relationships using colourful local dialect. But more on that later.
Imagine the scenario vividly in your graphic mind. Wright grabs the unsuspecting Sehwag by the collar and gives him a stinging jhaapar (slap); a stunned Veeru cries like a poor schoolboy deprived of his daily quota of Boost.
Veeru, sobbing with such loud gasps that the VIP guests assumed a creature from the London Zoo had quietly sneaked in, goes to his fiery skipper, Sourav Ganguly, himself a tornado waiting to take off at the slightest instigation.
On hearing about the Kiwi indiscretion, the Prince of Kolkotta asks for divine justice; the coach must offer a complete apology with the whole team standing around him in a semi-circle, smothering their unadulterated joy behind grim expressions.
Somehow, as usual, deal making (an inherent part of Indian cricket) became the insurmountable obstacle. A settlement was apparently engineered, and as per which Veeru did not slap Wright back. Instead, they all backslapped each other at mutually convenient locations of least discomfort. In Wright's book, no further incident of such exciting proportions unfortunately recurred, but it seems Sunil Gavaskar's sneaky revelation that Wright was a recipient of incisive compliments uttered with a Patiala twang from his pupils was perhaps not a figment of his wild imagination.
Which brings me to the point of this article. If the Indian team went onto register a most extraordinary victory in the NatWest Series despite such on-ground turbulence and entertaining tamasha (circus), then I think Wright has perhaps unwittingly just given us the perfect recipe for winning the World Cup 2007.
Cut out the rigorous commando training and endless runs around the stadium, tear the batting nets into shreds and tell De Bono to put on his thinking hat. Quite simply, all that Greg Chappell has to do is to start slapping a few guys once in a while.
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